Post by Admin on May 13, 2018 12:53:46 GMT 1
Under Dark Wings
Reading sample
Available for purchase on Amazon. Type B00BY5PRLC into Amazon's search engine, or follow the given links if you are using Amazon.com ($ 3.69 USD), Amazon.ca ($ 4.00 Cdn) or Amazon.co.uk (£ 2.00).
Format: e-book
Pages: 265
The idea of Under Dark Wings was to have a quick read for a train or plane ride where the ending is open so that the reader him- or herself can decide whether or not what happened was for good or ill. We have been asked before to "complete the story", because the reader wants to know "what happens next". We are considering the possibility of writing a sequel, but so far (05.13.2018) no plans have been made. We are currently busy planning and writing several prequels and sequels to "The Conduit" instead.
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Additional reading sample:
Chapter I.
His steps echoed through the vaulted halls of the Hierophant’s castle and temple. The guards knew him well. Knew of his habits and knew of his eccentricities. They let him pass unopposed, sometimes giving a polite bow, sometimes just ignoring his passing altogether. For all they knew, Father Zapheter was supposed to have been at the Hierophant’s audience anyway. For this audience the somewhat aged priest was more than just fashionably late, but the guards also knew the Hierophant would be grateful for every moment of respite he would get from the old priest’s ramblings about ancient prophecies, Okaya’s righteous campaign against the Fallen, or other half forgotten fairytales the old man seemed to have a knack for finding within the stacks of ancient and dusty tomes stored in the temple’s library.
Once more the old priest’s sausage like fingers clasped a heavy, leather bound volume, to his quite noticeable belly. The aged Father liked the temple’s ale almost as much as he liked those obscure tales he was digging up. If the Hierophant allowed it, Father Zapheter would likely roll a barrel of ale into the library and empty it at the same time as he was reading his tales. The guard had never learned how to read, so he could not read the gilded letters on the cover of the tome, but he had his suspicions. These suspicions would also have proven correct as the tome was titled “The Prophecies Of the rise of the Blessed of Okaya”. Clasping the book to his enormous girth with the one hand, Father Zapheter wiped the sweat off of his almost bald head with the other. It had been a while since hair had last decorated the head of the old priest. These have long since moved from his head to his face. As pitiful as the last strands of white hair looked on the old man’s head covered with age spots and a few old scars from hitting his head after long nights of seeking Okaya’s wisdom at the bottom of an ale mug, as proud his long, full white and surprisingly well groomed beard reached down to the cord of his robes.
The old man almost dropped the book as he reached the Hierophant’s audience chamber. He was completely out of breath at this time.
“Father Lord Zapheter,” the guard said by way of greeting, while respectfully bowing before the other man, “I shall announce your arrival to the Lord Hierophant and his Lordship’s guests.”
“Yes, thank you lad,” the Father answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead again and trying to catch his breath. The guard - what was his name again? – he had been in the service of the Hierophant for years. Alron? Agros? His name was something starting with an ‘A’ anyway, of that Father Zapheter was certain.
Silently the guard, whose name started with an ‘A’, opened one of the wings of the well oiled portal and stepped into the audience chamber, before he respectfully waited, until he was noticed and spoken to. The audience chamber, although less pompous and not as richly decorated as the throne room, was a long, vaulted hall with a floor of polished white marble, partially covered by luxurious carpets. The pillars holding the vaulted ceiling were made of the same polished white marble as the floor. Their bases and heads were gilded, as were the four candleholders attached to each. In the middle of the hall was an enormous table made of solid oak and gilded decorations around its edges. Each of the many legs holding the heavy table plate was hand carved, with characters and scenes out of the Blessed Book of Okaya. To protect the polished and varnished table top elaborately embroidered cloths were put on the table in front of each of the many chairs, each of which any average peasant might already call a throne, arrayed around the massive table. On the table cloths, in front of each of the guests stood a bejeweled mug filled with ale or, equally bejeweled, a horn of mead or a goblet of wine. In some cases more than one of the possible drinking vessels was placed in front of the guest in question. Together with the drinks were served a variety of delicacies and snacks ranging from imported and delicately salted caviar, to the more local, juicy beaver tails, to puddings and pates and freshly baked bread. In spite of the audience not being a dinner party, and in spite of the sometimes serious faces, as various points of discussion were brought up or argued about, the Hierophant’s many guests thoroughly enjoyed the delicacies served them out of the Lord Hierophant’s personal kitchen. Being a priest of such high stature bore certain privileges, allowing the Hierophant to live a more comfortable and a more eloquent life than many a Lord within the realm. But in spite of what some envious tongues might proclaim, this comfort and these riches, which could easily feed a small town for a year or more, did not come without their price or without pressing responsibilities.
As the guard stepped into the chamber, the Hierophant’s treasurer had just taken up word. He was a skinny man, in his fifties or possibly already older. There were big bags underneath his eyes. His face was clean shaven. His cheeks were sunken. His hair was about shoulder long and of a color some of the richer members of society would call salt and a spice from a distant land, a spice known as pepper. The beaver tails served at the table were served with just a smidgeon of this tangy, alien spice, to give them an exquisite and somewhat exotic taste.
“My Lord Hierophant, my Lords, I would like to point out that in between all of this we must not forget, that also the Lord Hierophant’s treasury is not without its limits. I would urge all of the present to start setting priorities on what needs to be done right away, and what can wait until later…”
This was about as far as the skinny man had gotten, before everyone was already talking and screaming at the same time. A man in a military tabard pointed out, that the first thing that needed to be done, considering the threat of war between several of the worldly lords, was to increase the troop compliments of the militant orders. A second commander, of a different one such order, heartily agreed and also requested new weapons and armor for his knights and soldiers. But before the military man had had a chance to elaborate further upon his request, already a variety of other, often times radically opposing requests were made: a fund would have to be set up to aid the people losing their livelihood in the soon to be war torn counties; the temples of the villages needed more candles and were often running seriously low on incense, and worse on ceremonial mead; provisions needed to be made to ease the suffering of the wounded on either side of the conflict; a decision would have to be made, whether or not either of the conflicting parties deserved military assistance from the knights of the temple, after all some of the Lords have proven themselves to be true to Okaya and his temple, while others were reluctant to even make proper donations at the temple or to regularly pay their tithes to the Lord Hierophant. The Hierophant, a somewhat corpulent man in his fifties, with a balding forehead and a short, well trimmed beard, was rubbing his temples. These were difficult decisions that had to be made, no doubt, but if for once the present gentlemen would allow the speaker to say his piece without interrupting and shouting at one another, then perhaps this meeting would eventually draw to an end and to some decisions actually being made. The sight of the guard having entered the room was a welcome relief, in spite of the Hierophant being painfully aware of just whose arrival his guard’s man would announce. As usually, the only member of his council who was still absent from the meeting was Father Zapheter. And there was no doubt in the high priest’s mind, as to what topic the good old Father Zapheter would wish to bring up at the council meeting. It would be the same topic the old fool always brought up at every opportunity that presented itself to him. But at least this was a good excuse to demand some silence from the other men present at the table. The Hierophant clapped into his hands.
“My Lords, gentlemen a moment of silence please!” Then turning to the guard he inquired, “I assume the last member of our council has finally arrived?”
“Yes my Lord Hierophant,” answered the guard and bowed, “Lord Father Zapheter is requesting entry to the council halls.”
“Entry is granted, ask the good Father to join us.”
“Yes my Lord,” said the guard, bowed and silently exited the hall again. Moments later the old priest, still clutching the heavy tome to his chest, stomped into the room.
“My Lord Hierophant, my Lords, gentlemen,” he said by way of greeting and let the heavy book crash onto the table, before he continued, “These are grave times indeed, the Fallen…”
As the word Fallen fell, not only was the old priest interrupted by his Lordship the Hierophant of Okaya, one of the younger men at the table also grimaced almost in disgust, as he plucked a gold coin from out of his pouch and slammed it upon the table in front of his somewhat older and evidently somewhat wiser friend sitting next to him. The older man smiled with malicious joy, picked up the coin, demonstratively bit into it and then let it disappear into a pouch hidden on the inside of his own robes. Meanwhile the younger man mumbled in disgust, “Old fool, can’t even wait until he puts his fat arse upon a chair, before he already starts with his Fallen…”
“My dear Father Zapheter,” said the Hierophant, “by all accounts the Fallen have been patiently waiting and doing nothing for well over a thousand years. They will have to wait a little bit longer, while this council decides on more, let’s say, immediate and pressing problems. You will have a chance to tell us about your newest discovery about the Fallen at the end of this meeting. Please take a seat my Lord.” The high priest then turned to the treasurer, who had tried to present his point before, “Lord Galran, if you would continue please.”
“Yes my Lord Hierophant. Hrrrmph. My Lords, gentlemen, as I had tried to point out before, it is important, that this council sets some priorities and that we also discuss how these priorities are to be financed. The Lord Hierophant has sufficient funds available to make difficult and even very costly decisions, but our treasury is not limitless and if the strife between the various Lords does turn into open warfare, we must also prepare for the possibilities that tithes will be paid late or not at all. Further more we must prepare for the fact, that donations made at the temples will then have to be used in part or in full to ease the suffering of the peasantry, the innocent victims in any armed conflict.”
“It is the will of Okaya that the innocent are always protected and cared for by those who have been given his favor.” The older priest pointed out while feeling for his pouch, which the gold coin had just recently disappeared into.
“Indeed,” said the Hierophant in answer to both men. Therefore we cannot just make decisions at random, and everyone here must be aware, that we do have to plan ahead carefully, to make sure our available funds last for the duration of the imminent conflict. My Lords Commander Harian and Commander…”
Instead of one of the commanders of the church knights, Father Zapheter, who had decided he had been patient long enough, started speaking again, “Our priority should clearly and beyond any doubt be to start searching for the Blessed of Okaya. The Fallen are rising, the signs can no longer be denied…”
Lord Commander Kandor, who over the years repeatedly had had the dubious pleasure of listening to one of Father Zapheter’s litanies about the Fallen, rubbed his temples in exasperation. Already he could feel the onset of a headache. He was a soldier! With thirty four years of age he was amongst the youngest members of the council, only Father Bregor, still lamenting the loss of his gold coin, was still a few years younger. Kandor had repeatedly proven his valor and his cunning on the battlefield in the service of the Lord Hierophant. The Commander was known to be fearless and to be well capable of ignoring the gore on the battlefield. He would get the job done, regardless of the odds and regardless of the job. His faith in Okaya gave him the strength and the perseverance to lead his men to victory even against overwhelming odds. But these council meetings were a drag. He wished he could command the troops without having to participate in the politics.
Can’t the council take care of the politics my Lord Hierophant? And you my Lord give me an order where I need to be who I need to kill or what patch of earth I need to hold, and I will be there, kill him and hold the position. He had asked the Hierophant, a distant cousin of his, shortly after he was raised to Lord Commander within the order. But the high priest just simply answered, I will do this, when it is time for my soldiers to be on the field, to kill or to hold parts of my land. But until such a time you are part of the council now and your voice, like everyone else’s voice, needs to be heard in the council hall. So here he was, in the council hall, so that his voice could be heard. If the council meeting had been a drag so far, with the arrival of the seemingly somewhat obsessed Father Zapheter and his Fallen, it was quickly promising to turn into pure torture for the soldier. He had always felt more comfortable out on the field amongst the crows and all the gore of battle, than inside one of these pompous and extravagant displays of decadence like the Lord Hierophant’s castle. What were they worried about not having enough funding anyway? Selling the candleholders in the audience chamber alone would give them enough coin to pay his entire army for a campaign lasting ten years or longer.
“Father Zapheter,” the Hierophant exclaimed in a slightly annoyed voice, “please, pour yourself some ale, have another mug for the Fallen and another mug for the Blessed and please make the Fallen wait until we have had a chance to discuss the more immediate matters. Lord Commander Harian, if you please.”
“Yes my Lord. As I had tried to state before, my order as well as the Lord Commander Kandor’s order do not currently have enough troops combat ready to take a side in the upcoming conflict or even just to protect the most miserable of the peasant villages from plunder and looting. One of our priorities should be to recruit and train more soldiers so as not to be dependent on the good will of the worldly Lords, regardless of whether we actively participate in the war or only protect the villagers. In the long run this will of course also strengthen the political position of the Lord Hierophant within the empire itself.”
While Lord Commander Kandor just nodded his head in approval, the lucky winner of the bet pointed out that it would be more important for the villagers to have a place they can turn to, to replace the grain and the livestock that would undoubtedly be lost to the raiding armies.
“…the Lords are well aware of the fact that this is a conflict within their own borders, and that it is their peasants that are affected. We must give them some trust in their good senses, that they themselves will take steps to protect the people of their own counties and duchies. However, famine always accompanies war and we should set up granaries on neutral territory for the peasants to turn to, to feed their families. I would also strongly urge the Lord Hierophant not to take sides in a conflict about to be fought so close to the borders of church land.”
“With the Fallen awakening, we should not squabble about whom to support or not support in a conflict as meaningless as this. We must reason with the Lords to cease their hostilities immediately and then must concentrate on finding the Blessed.”
“And how do you propose we do that Father Zepheter, should we go to the Lords’ castles and tell the Lords fairytales about the Fallen before their bedtime to make them see reason?” Lord Commander Kandor suggested with a sharp edge to his voice.
“One would think a Lord Commander of one of the religious orders would be better versed in the writings of the Blessed Book, these are not fairytales that we tell to our children. This is prophecy already set forth in the Blessed Book itself.”
“We are all well versed in the scripture Father Zapheter,” the Hierophant cut in, in an attempt to stop him and the Lord Commander from openly trading insults, “Father Zapheter, please allow the Fallen a short respite and allow the other council members to speak their piece.”
Father Zapheter opened his mouth to protest, but an angry look by the high priest made him think twice about this possibility.
“We have heard the request by our military commander and we have heard the suggestions made by Father Aphael, are there any other suggestions or requests at this point…”
“Yes, the Fal…”
“Any suggestion, that has nothing to do with the Fallen, or with the Blessed?”
“Aside from the famine the peasants may also decide to just flee before any approaching army and may want for shelter. We might have to set up some barracks at least to accommodate them,” Father Bregor suggested, before the council members started arguing about whether or not it had actually been decided to stay neutral in the conflict at all. Father Zapheter made a few desperate attempts to add the Fallen into the discussion, but was silenced just as often by the Hierophant, who, like Lord Commander Kandor, was by then seen rubbing his temples in increasing frequency.
“Silence!” the high priest commanded.
“Let’s have a show of hands to start setting some of those priorities. All in favor of staying neutral in the coming conflict please raise your hands.”
Although the council members had had different reasons for their vote, the decision to stay neutral was accepted unanimously. Even Father Zapheter had raised his hand, and for once did not use it as an excuse to bring forth his own argument once more.
The decisions on how to split up the available coin from the Hierophant’s treasury proved to be a lot more complicated and no further definitive decisions were reached this day, although it had still been decided for Father Aphael and Father Bregor to make a plan on how to set up granaries and refugee camps, so that they could give the council some idea on how much coin such an endeavor would require. Further, the two military commanders were to make detailed reports on how many additional men would have to be trained to offer at least some minimal protection to the nearby peasants. And the commanders were to gather some intelligence on which of the villages or towns would most likely be involved in the conflict, so that the church’s troops could be sent to these places first.
“There is one more matter that should be discussed during this meeting,” another monk of indeterminable age mentioned. So far the man had been mostly quiet during the meeting.
“Two actually!” Father Zapheter made sure he was heard, much to the dismay of the other council members, particularly Lord Commander Kandor.
“Well, actually what I wish to bring to the council’s attention may be part of the same issue Father Zapheter has been so impatient to raise.”
Lord Commander Kandor buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Merciful Okaya, don’t also encourage him with his cursed Fallen!”
“Ha!” Father Zapheter exclaimed and waited for the monk to start speaking. The old priest was as excited as a young child on his or her naming day.
“As some of you may already have heard, several of the worldly Lords have been lamenting strange behavior amongst their peasantry. Now unlike Father Zapheter might argue, I do not wish to call out Fallen right away, for there have been other instances such as these before. And at the times in question the alchemists had explained it with a sickness of the grain. However, one cannot deny that the peasants’ behavior does bear a certain resemblance to the touch of madness described in the scriptures. As representatives of Okaya, it is our duty to shed some light on the matter and to find out, if the peasant folk had simply been poisoned by a grain sickness or if there is more to this than…”
Father Zapheter had been as patient as he planned to be. Rather than risking to once again be denied to speak up he decided to finish the monk’s deliberations for him.
“Indeed, it is time that we turn to the blessed scripture for some answers.”
“And here we go with the Fallen,” Kandor whispered and buried his face in his hands again.
Father Zapheter ignored the Lord Commander just like he ignored complaints from several of the other council members.
“I have just recently found this tome down in the library,” he started to explain and held up the heavy book. “I was actually looking for a volume on astrology, to double checks my calculations, but as I got to a dusty old shelf in the west sector of the library…”
“Father Zapheter, it suffices to say that you have found the tome. Now why don’t you enlighten us about just how it is of any significance to us?”
“Certainly my Lord Hierophant. So I found this ancient tome down in the library and do any of you have any idea what it is I am holding in my hands right now?”
“Some fairytale about your Fallen,” suggested Kandor, causing the other members of the council to snicker a little bit. But Father Zapheter was way too excited to be stopped by a pointed insult; perhaps he had not even noticed that he had been insulted at all.
“It is ‘Of the rise of the Blessed of Okaya’!” he proudly proclaimed, as if this were supposed to mean anything to anyone.
“We can all read the title good Father, but why is it significant?”
“It was written by Algoran the Ancient himself, an interpretation of the prophecies of the rise of the Fallen as described in the Blessed Book. It contains among many other things some very detailed astrological charts, which place the rise of the Fallen not just into our times, but into exactly this year. This means also that exactly this year the Blessed of Okaya will make himself known, to stand up against the vile touch of the Fallen. It is of vital importance for the temple, for us, to find this blessed soul, so that we can offer our aid and perhaps guide him in his righteous battle.”
“And how can we be certain that this truly is the prophesied time? The Blessed Book does not seem to give any indication of when this prophecy comes to pass,” Lord Commander Harian asked.
“Funny that you would mention it my Lord Commander, because as I found out, the scripture not only gives an indication of when events will come to pass, it is actually very precise about the time it is describing, and this time is now!”
“Do explain yourself Father,” the Hierophant requested.
The high priest prided himself to be well versed in the scripture of the Blessed Book and able to recite many of its passages from memory, but he had never seen any indication in the most holy scriptures of the faith of Okaya that would suggest, when the Fallen would rise or when the Blessed of Okaya would be found.
“You might remember, in the prophecies there is the following passage, often ignored, since no one truly understands its significance any longer. And as the plowman sows his seeds the first sign of the rise of the Fallen shall be seen upon Okaya’s beautiful earth. Silently shall the peril sweep down, its dark wings blocking out the rising sun.”
“We are well aware of this passage Father Zapheter. And also its interpretation is quite clear, the first signs of the fulfillment of this prophecy will be seen in spring, when the farmers are planting their seeds, but this gives absolutely no indication of the year this is all supposed to come to pass.”
“This is true only if we assume that the plowman refers to the peasantry.”
“What else would it refer to, a noble knight digging the mud like some lowly peasant?”
“The stars!”
It took a while before someone dared to question this new revelation of Father Zapheter’s. Lord Commander Kandor, however, proved to be the most impatient.
“The stars?”
“Yes, the stars my young friend, for the plowman refers to a star sign rarely seen on the night sky, it is the old name for the scythe swinger seen in the night’s sky just this month, the first time in a thousand and three hundred and sixty three years one might add.”
“And you are certain about this?” the Hierophant asked at least somewhat intrigued, if far from convinced by the old priest’s argument.
“Of course he is certain, just like he was twelve years ago, when he sent us all on this wild goose chase to find the Blessed one! But what reason do we have to believe that this is any different now? So once again he chose a passage out of the scripture, gives it his own interpretation and then uses it to try and convince us that somewhere out there a Paladin born to the peasantry is ready to take up arms against the Fallen. We have been there before, most of you remember,” Harian pointed out, intent on ending this nonsensical discussion about the Fallen once and for all, “And our good Father Zapheter is not the only one giving new interpretations to the scripture and inventing the Paladin, the ‘blessed rebellion’ twenty two years ago, the ‘rebellion of the Paladin’ sixty one years ago, the fear of the knight of dark wings at the turn of the last century… need I go on? It is an old story chewed through and spit out so many times, I cannot believe any of you are taking it serious yet again!”
“Are you claiming that the Blessed Book is a lie?” Father Zapheter asked scandalized.
“No I’m saying you are!”
“Well I never…”
“That’s enough you two!” the Hierophant demanded, “explain to us, where your new found knowledge about the plowman comes from Father.”
“It is written right in here, Algoran still knew the old tradition of astrology, as well as the new version in use now.”
“So what do you propose we do? Ask the peasants if they have seen the Paladin?” Harian challenged.
“To start off with, we should inquire about the strange occurrences amongst the peasantry and see what we can find out.”
“Then I shall charge you with this task Father; report back to us once you know more.”
“Me my Lord? But wouldn’t it be better for me to continue my research…?” (down in the library and not out in the cold with the peasants?)
“But this is your research! Now find us evidence of the rise of the Fallen or of the rise of the Paladin and report back to us with your findings.”
“As…, as my Lord wishes, but I was thinking that perhaps the knights would be better equipped to…”
“But of the knights we do not have enough, as the Lord Commanders had both pointed out before. Besides, who better to recognize the signs than you Father Zapheter?”
This was not quite how he had imagined his role in finding the Paladin, and for once the aged Father had nothing else to say, neither about the Fallen nor about the prophecy.
Reading sample
Available for purchase on Amazon. Type B00BY5PRLC into Amazon's search engine, or follow the given links if you are using Amazon.com ($ 3.69 USD), Amazon.ca ($ 4.00 Cdn) or Amazon.co.uk (£ 2.00).
Format: e-book
Pages: 265
The idea of Under Dark Wings was to have a quick read for a train or plane ride where the ending is open so that the reader him- or herself can decide whether or not what happened was for good or ill. We have been asked before to "complete the story", because the reader wants to know "what happens next". We are considering the possibility of writing a sequel, but so far (05.13.2018) no plans have been made. We are currently busy planning and writing several prequels and sequels to "The Conduit" instead.
Participating in the poll:
- Please participate only if you have actually read the novel
- If you slam us, please turn it into constructive criticism and start a thread where you tell us what you think is so bad about the novel
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Additional reading sample:
Chapter I.
His steps echoed through the vaulted halls of the Hierophant’s castle and temple. The guards knew him well. Knew of his habits and knew of his eccentricities. They let him pass unopposed, sometimes giving a polite bow, sometimes just ignoring his passing altogether. For all they knew, Father Zapheter was supposed to have been at the Hierophant’s audience anyway. For this audience the somewhat aged priest was more than just fashionably late, but the guards also knew the Hierophant would be grateful for every moment of respite he would get from the old priest’s ramblings about ancient prophecies, Okaya’s righteous campaign against the Fallen, or other half forgotten fairytales the old man seemed to have a knack for finding within the stacks of ancient and dusty tomes stored in the temple’s library.
Once more the old priest’s sausage like fingers clasped a heavy, leather bound volume, to his quite noticeable belly. The aged Father liked the temple’s ale almost as much as he liked those obscure tales he was digging up. If the Hierophant allowed it, Father Zapheter would likely roll a barrel of ale into the library and empty it at the same time as he was reading his tales. The guard had never learned how to read, so he could not read the gilded letters on the cover of the tome, but he had his suspicions. These suspicions would also have proven correct as the tome was titled “The Prophecies Of the rise of the Blessed of Okaya”. Clasping the book to his enormous girth with the one hand, Father Zapheter wiped the sweat off of his almost bald head with the other. It had been a while since hair had last decorated the head of the old priest. These have long since moved from his head to his face. As pitiful as the last strands of white hair looked on the old man’s head covered with age spots and a few old scars from hitting his head after long nights of seeking Okaya’s wisdom at the bottom of an ale mug, as proud his long, full white and surprisingly well groomed beard reached down to the cord of his robes.
The old man almost dropped the book as he reached the Hierophant’s audience chamber. He was completely out of breath at this time.
“Father Lord Zapheter,” the guard said by way of greeting, while respectfully bowing before the other man, “I shall announce your arrival to the Lord Hierophant and his Lordship’s guests.”
“Yes, thank you lad,” the Father answered, wiping the sweat from his forehead again and trying to catch his breath. The guard - what was his name again? – he had been in the service of the Hierophant for years. Alron? Agros? His name was something starting with an ‘A’ anyway, of that Father Zapheter was certain.
Silently the guard, whose name started with an ‘A’, opened one of the wings of the well oiled portal and stepped into the audience chamber, before he respectfully waited, until he was noticed and spoken to. The audience chamber, although less pompous and not as richly decorated as the throne room, was a long, vaulted hall with a floor of polished white marble, partially covered by luxurious carpets. The pillars holding the vaulted ceiling were made of the same polished white marble as the floor. Their bases and heads were gilded, as were the four candleholders attached to each. In the middle of the hall was an enormous table made of solid oak and gilded decorations around its edges. Each of the many legs holding the heavy table plate was hand carved, with characters and scenes out of the Blessed Book of Okaya. To protect the polished and varnished table top elaborately embroidered cloths were put on the table in front of each of the many chairs, each of which any average peasant might already call a throne, arrayed around the massive table. On the table cloths, in front of each of the guests stood a bejeweled mug filled with ale or, equally bejeweled, a horn of mead or a goblet of wine. In some cases more than one of the possible drinking vessels was placed in front of the guest in question. Together with the drinks were served a variety of delicacies and snacks ranging from imported and delicately salted caviar, to the more local, juicy beaver tails, to puddings and pates and freshly baked bread. In spite of the audience not being a dinner party, and in spite of the sometimes serious faces, as various points of discussion were brought up or argued about, the Hierophant’s many guests thoroughly enjoyed the delicacies served them out of the Lord Hierophant’s personal kitchen. Being a priest of such high stature bore certain privileges, allowing the Hierophant to live a more comfortable and a more eloquent life than many a Lord within the realm. But in spite of what some envious tongues might proclaim, this comfort and these riches, which could easily feed a small town for a year or more, did not come without their price or without pressing responsibilities.
As the guard stepped into the chamber, the Hierophant’s treasurer had just taken up word. He was a skinny man, in his fifties or possibly already older. There were big bags underneath his eyes. His face was clean shaven. His cheeks were sunken. His hair was about shoulder long and of a color some of the richer members of society would call salt and a spice from a distant land, a spice known as pepper. The beaver tails served at the table were served with just a smidgeon of this tangy, alien spice, to give them an exquisite and somewhat exotic taste.
“My Lord Hierophant, my Lords, I would like to point out that in between all of this we must not forget, that also the Lord Hierophant’s treasury is not without its limits. I would urge all of the present to start setting priorities on what needs to be done right away, and what can wait until later…”
This was about as far as the skinny man had gotten, before everyone was already talking and screaming at the same time. A man in a military tabard pointed out, that the first thing that needed to be done, considering the threat of war between several of the worldly lords, was to increase the troop compliments of the militant orders. A second commander, of a different one such order, heartily agreed and also requested new weapons and armor for his knights and soldiers. But before the military man had had a chance to elaborate further upon his request, already a variety of other, often times radically opposing requests were made: a fund would have to be set up to aid the people losing their livelihood in the soon to be war torn counties; the temples of the villages needed more candles and were often running seriously low on incense, and worse on ceremonial mead; provisions needed to be made to ease the suffering of the wounded on either side of the conflict; a decision would have to be made, whether or not either of the conflicting parties deserved military assistance from the knights of the temple, after all some of the Lords have proven themselves to be true to Okaya and his temple, while others were reluctant to even make proper donations at the temple or to regularly pay their tithes to the Lord Hierophant. The Hierophant, a somewhat corpulent man in his fifties, with a balding forehead and a short, well trimmed beard, was rubbing his temples. These were difficult decisions that had to be made, no doubt, but if for once the present gentlemen would allow the speaker to say his piece without interrupting and shouting at one another, then perhaps this meeting would eventually draw to an end and to some decisions actually being made. The sight of the guard having entered the room was a welcome relief, in spite of the Hierophant being painfully aware of just whose arrival his guard’s man would announce. As usually, the only member of his council who was still absent from the meeting was Father Zapheter. And there was no doubt in the high priest’s mind, as to what topic the good old Father Zapheter would wish to bring up at the council meeting. It would be the same topic the old fool always brought up at every opportunity that presented itself to him. But at least this was a good excuse to demand some silence from the other men present at the table. The Hierophant clapped into his hands.
“My Lords, gentlemen a moment of silence please!” Then turning to the guard he inquired, “I assume the last member of our council has finally arrived?”
“Yes my Lord Hierophant,” answered the guard and bowed, “Lord Father Zapheter is requesting entry to the council halls.”
“Entry is granted, ask the good Father to join us.”
“Yes my Lord,” said the guard, bowed and silently exited the hall again. Moments later the old priest, still clutching the heavy tome to his chest, stomped into the room.
“My Lord Hierophant, my Lords, gentlemen,” he said by way of greeting and let the heavy book crash onto the table, before he continued, “These are grave times indeed, the Fallen…”
As the word Fallen fell, not only was the old priest interrupted by his Lordship the Hierophant of Okaya, one of the younger men at the table also grimaced almost in disgust, as he plucked a gold coin from out of his pouch and slammed it upon the table in front of his somewhat older and evidently somewhat wiser friend sitting next to him. The older man smiled with malicious joy, picked up the coin, demonstratively bit into it and then let it disappear into a pouch hidden on the inside of his own robes. Meanwhile the younger man mumbled in disgust, “Old fool, can’t even wait until he puts his fat arse upon a chair, before he already starts with his Fallen…”
“My dear Father Zapheter,” said the Hierophant, “by all accounts the Fallen have been patiently waiting and doing nothing for well over a thousand years. They will have to wait a little bit longer, while this council decides on more, let’s say, immediate and pressing problems. You will have a chance to tell us about your newest discovery about the Fallen at the end of this meeting. Please take a seat my Lord.” The high priest then turned to the treasurer, who had tried to present his point before, “Lord Galran, if you would continue please.”
“Yes my Lord Hierophant. Hrrrmph. My Lords, gentlemen, as I had tried to point out before, it is important, that this council sets some priorities and that we also discuss how these priorities are to be financed. The Lord Hierophant has sufficient funds available to make difficult and even very costly decisions, but our treasury is not limitless and if the strife between the various Lords does turn into open warfare, we must also prepare for the possibilities that tithes will be paid late or not at all. Further more we must prepare for the fact, that donations made at the temples will then have to be used in part or in full to ease the suffering of the peasantry, the innocent victims in any armed conflict.”
“It is the will of Okaya that the innocent are always protected and cared for by those who have been given his favor.” The older priest pointed out while feeling for his pouch, which the gold coin had just recently disappeared into.
“Indeed,” said the Hierophant in answer to both men. Therefore we cannot just make decisions at random, and everyone here must be aware, that we do have to plan ahead carefully, to make sure our available funds last for the duration of the imminent conflict. My Lords Commander Harian and Commander…”
Instead of one of the commanders of the church knights, Father Zapheter, who had decided he had been patient long enough, started speaking again, “Our priority should clearly and beyond any doubt be to start searching for the Blessed of Okaya. The Fallen are rising, the signs can no longer be denied…”
Lord Commander Kandor, who over the years repeatedly had had the dubious pleasure of listening to one of Father Zapheter’s litanies about the Fallen, rubbed his temples in exasperation. Already he could feel the onset of a headache. He was a soldier! With thirty four years of age he was amongst the youngest members of the council, only Father Bregor, still lamenting the loss of his gold coin, was still a few years younger. Kandor had repeatedly proven his valor and his cunning on the battlefield in the service of the Lord Hierophant. The Commander was known to be fearless and to be well capable of ignoring the gore on the battlefield. He would get the job done, regardless of the odds and regardless of the job. His faith in Okaya gave him the strength and the perseverance to lead his men to victory even against overwhelming odds. But these council meetings were a drag. He wished he could command the troops without having to participate in the politics.
Can’t the council take care of the politics my Lord Hierophant? And you my Lord give me an order where I need to be who I need to kill or what patch of earth I need to hold, and I will be there, kill him and hold the position. He had asked the Hierophant, a distant cousin of his, shortly after he was raised to Lord Commander within the order. But the high priest just simply answered, I will do this, when it is time for my soldiers to be on the field, to kill or to hold parts of my land. But until such a time you are part of the council now and your voice, like everyone else’s voice, needs to be heard in the council hall. So here he was, in the council hall, so that his voice could be heard. If the council meeting had been a drag so far, with the arrival of the seemingly somewhat obsessed Father Zapheter and his Fallen, it was quickly promising to turn into pure torture for the soldier. He had always felt more comfortable out on the field amongst the crows and all the gore of battle, than inside one of these pompous and extravagant displays of decadence like the Lord Hierophant’s castle. What were they worried about not having enough funding anyway? Selling the candleholders in the audience chamber alone would give them enough coin to pay his entire army for a campaign lasting ten years or longer.
“Father Zapheter,” the Hierophant exclaimed in a slightly annoyed voice, “please, pour yourself some ale, have another mug for the Fallen and another mug for the Blessed and please make the Fallen wait until we have had a chance to discuss the more immediate matters. Lord Commander Harian, if you please.”
“Yes my Lord. As I had tried to state before, my order as well as the Lord Commander Kandor’s order do not currently have enough troops combat ready to take a side in the upcoming conflict or even just to protect the most miserable of the peasant villages from plunder and looting. One of our priorities should be to recruit and train more soldiers so as not to be dependent on the good will of the worldly Lords, regardless of whether we actively participate in the war or only protect the villagers. In the long run this will of course also strengthen the political position of the Lord Hierophant within the empire itself.”
While Lord Commander Kandor just nodded his head in approval, the lucky winner of the bet pointed out that it would be more important for the villagers to have a place they can turn to, to replace the grain and the livestock that would undoubtedly be lost to the raiding armies.
“…the Lords are well aware of the fact that this is a conflict within their own borders, and that it is their peasants that are affected. We must give them some trust in their good senses, that they themselves will take steps to protect the people of their own counties and duchies. However, famine always accompanies war and we should set up granaries on neutral territory for the peasants to turn to, to feed their families. I would also strongly urge the Lord Hierophant not to take sides in a conflict about to be fought so close to the borders of church land.”
“With the Fallen awakening, we should not squabble about whom to support or not support in a conflict as meaningless as this. We must reason with the Lords to cease their hostilities immediately and then must concentrate on finding the Blessed.”
“And how do you propose we do that Father Zepheter, should we go to the Lords’ castles and tell the Lords fairytales about the Fallen before their bedtime to make them see reason?” Lord Commander Kandor suggested with a sharp edge to his voice.
“One would think a Lord Commander of one of the religious orders would be better versed in the writings of the Blessed Book, these are not fairytales that we tell to our children. This is prophecy already set forth in the Blessed Book itself.”
“We are all well versed in the scripture Father Zapheter,” the Hierophant cut in, in an attempt to stop him and the Lord Commander from openly trading insults, “Father Zapheter, please allow the Fallen a short respite and allow the other council members to speak their piece.”
Father Zapheter opened his mouth to protest, but an angry look by the high priest made him think twice about this possibility.
“We have heard the request by our military commander and we have heard the suggestions made by Father Aphael, are there any other suggestions or requests at this point…”
“Yes, the Fal…”
“Any suggestion, that has nothing to do with the Fallen, or with the Blessed?”
“Aside from the famine the peasants may also decide to just flee before any approaching army and may want for shelter. We might have to set up some barracks at least to accommodate them,” Father Bregor suggested, before the council members started arguing about whether or not it had actually been decided to stay neutral in the conflict at all. Father Zapheter made a few desperate attempts to add the Fallen into the discussion, but was silenced just as often by the Hierophant, who, like Lord Commander Kandor, was by then seen rubbing his temples in increasing frequency.
“Silence!” the high priest commanded.
“Let’s have a show of hands to start setting some of those priorities. All in favor of staying neutral in the coming conflict please raise your hands.”
Although the council members had had different reasons for their vote, the decision to stay neutral was accepted unanimously. Even Father Zapheter had raised his hand, and for once did not use it as an excuse to bring forth his own argument once more.
The decisions on how to split up the available coin from the Hierophant’s treasury proved to be a lot more complicated and no further definitive decisions were reached this day, although it had still been decided for Father Aphael and Father Bregor to make a plan on how to set up granaries and refugee camps, so that they could give the council some idea on how much coin such an endeavor would require. Further, the two military commanders were to make detailed reports on how many additional men would have to be trained to offer at least some minimal protection to the nearby peasants. And the commanders were to gather some intelligence on which of the villages or towns would most likely be involved in the conflict, so that the church’s troops could be sent to these places first.
“There is one more matter that should be discussed during this meeting,” another monk of indeterminable age mentioned. So far the man had been mostly quiet during the meeting.
“Two actually!” Father Zapheter made sure he was heard, much to the dismay of the other council members, particularly Lord Commander Kandor.
“Well, actually what I wish to bring to the council’s attention may be part of the same issue Father Zapheter has been so impatient to raise.”
Lord Commander Kandor buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Merciful Okaya, don’t also encourage him with his cursed Fallen!”
“Ha!” Father Zapheter exclaimed and waited for the monk to start speaking. The old priest was as excited as a young child on his or her naming day.
“As some of you may already have heard, several of the worldly Lords have been lamenting strange behavior amongst their peasantry. Now unlike Father Zapheter might argue, I do not wish to call out Fallen right away, for there have been other instances such as these before. And at the times in question the alchemists had explained it with a sickness of the grain. However, one cannot deny that the peasants’ behavior does bear a certain resemblance to the touch of madness described in the scriptures. As representatives of Okaya, it is our duty to shed some light on the matter and to find out, if the peasant folk had simply been poisoned by a grain sickness or if there is more to this than…”
Father Zapheter had been as patient as he planned to be. Rather than risking to once again be denied to speak up he decided to finish the monk’s deliberations for him.
“Indeed, it is time that we turn to the blessed scripture for some answers.”
“And here we go with the Fallen,” Kandor whispered and buried his face in his hands again.
Father Zapheter ignored the Lord Commander just like he ignored complaints from several of the other council members.
“I have just recently found this tome down in the library,” he started to explain and held up the heavy book. “I was actually looking for a volume on astrology, to double checks my calculations, but as I got to a dusty old shelf in the west sector of the library…”
“Father Zapheter, it suffices to say that you have found the tome. Now why don’t you enlighten us about just how it is of any significance to us?”
“Certainly my Lord Hierophant. So I found this ancient tome down in the library and do any of you have any idea what it is I am holding in my hands right now?”
“Some fairytale about your Fallen,” suggested Kandor, causing the other members of the council to snicker a little bit. But Father Zapheter was way too excited to be stopped by a pointed insult; perhaps he had not even noticed that he had been insulted at all.
“It is ‘Of the rise of the Blessed of Okaya’!” he proudly proclaimed, as if this were supposed to mean anything to anyone.
“We can all read the title good Father, but why is it significant?”
“It was written by Algoran the Ancient himself, an interpretation of the prophecies of the rise of the Fallen as described in the Blessed Book. It contains among many other things some very detailed astrological charts, which place the rise of the Fallen not just into our times, but into exactly this year. This means also that exactly this year the Blessed of Okaya will make himself known, to stand up against the vile touch of the Fallen. It is of vital importance for the temple, for us, to find this blessed soul, so that we can offer our aid and perhaps guide him in his righteous battle.”
“And how can we be certain that this truly is the prophesied time? The Blessed Book does not seem to give any indication of when this prophecy comes to pass,” Lord Commander Harian asked.
“Funny that you would mention it my Lord Commander, because as I found out, the scripture not only gives an indication of when events will come to pass, it is actually very precise about the time it is describing, and this time is now!”
“Do explain yourself Father,” the Hierophant requested.
The high priest prided himself to be well versed in the scripture of the Blessed Book and able to recite many of its passages from memory, but he had never seen any indication in the most holy scriptures of the faith of Okaya that would suggest, when the Fallen would rise or when the Blessed of Okaya would be found.
“You might remember, in the prophecies there is the following passage, often ignored, since no one truly understands its significance any longer. And as the plowman sows his seeds the first sign of the rise of the Fallen shall be seen upon Okaya’s beautiful earth. Silently shall the peril sweep down, its dark wings blocking out the rising sun.”
“We are well aware of this passage Father Zapheter. And also its interpretation is quite clear, the first signs of the fulfillment of this prophecy will be seen in spring, when the farmers are planting their seeds, but this gives absolutely no indication of the year this is all supposed to come to pass.”
“This is true only if we assume that the plowman refers to the peasantry.”
“What else would it refer to, a noble knight digging the mud like some lowly peasant?”
“The stars!”
It took a while before someone dared to question this new revelation of Father Zapheter’s. Lord Commander Kandor, however, proved to be the most impatient.
“The stars?”
“Yes, the stars my young friend, for the plowman refers to a star sign rarely seen on the night sky, it is the old name for the scythe swinger seen in the night’s sky just this month, the first time in a thousand and three hundred and sixty three years one might add.”
“And you are certain about this?” the Hierophant asked at least somewhat intrigued, if far from convinced by the old priest’s argument.
“Of course he is certain, just like he was twelve years ago, when he sent us all on this wild goose chase to find the Blessed one! But what reason do we have to believe that this is any different now? So once again he chose a passage out of the scripture, gives it his own interpretation and then uses it to try and convince us that somewhere out there a Paladin born to the peasantry is ready to take up arms against the Fallen. We have been there before, most of you remember,” Harian pointed out, intent on ending this nonsensical discussion about the Fallen once and for all, “And our good Father Zapheter is not the only one giving new interpretations to the scripture and inventing the Paladin, the ‘blessed rebellion’ twenty two years ago, the ‘rebellion of the Paladin’ sixty one years ago, the fear of the knight of dark wings at the turn of the last century… need I go on? It is an old story chewed through and spit out so many times, I cannot believe any of you are taking it serious yet again!”
“Are you claiming that the Blessed Book is a lie?” Father Zapheter asked scandalized.
“No I’m saying you are!”
“Well I never…”
“That’s enough you two!” the Hierophant demanded, “explain to us, where your new found knowledge about the plowman comes from Father.”
“It is written right in here, Algoran still knew the old tradition of astrology, as well as the new version in use now.”
“So what do you propose we do? Ask the peasants if they have seen the Paladin?” Harian challenged.
“To start off with, we should inquire about the strange occurrences amongst the peasantry and see what we can find out.”
“Then I shall charge you with this task Father; report back to us once you know more.”
“Me my Lord? But wouldn’t it be better for me to continue my research…?” (down in the library and not out in the cold with the peasants?)
“But this is your research! Now find us evidence of the rise of the Fallen or of the rise of the Paladin and report back to us with your findings.”
“As…, as my Lord wishes, but I was thinking that perhaps the knights would be better equipped to…”
“But of the knights we do not have enough, as the Lord Commanders had both pointed out before. Besides, who better to recognize the signs than you Father Zapheter?”
This was not quite how he had imagined his role in finding the Paladin, and for once the aged Father had nothing else to say, neither about the Fallen nor about the prophecy.